


the luckiest

by skyvehicle



Category: Megalo Box (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Emotional, Gen, Guilt, bit of internalized ableism, spoilers for the whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 17:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20157154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyvehicle/pseuds/skyvehicle
Summary: he is unable to fight the nebulous and metaphysical concept of Yuri’s difficulties, so his hands remain at his sides, clenched into utterly useless fists.





	the luckiest

Of course, the dog finds him. One minute Joe is dancing by himself on the beach, the next that dog comes tearing over the dunes, barking and skittering happily at Joe’s feet.

“Hey, you,” Joe says, because all he knows about the dog is that it’s friendly and belongs to Yuri. He looks back up the cliffs, half expecting to see Yuri standing there. But other than a few seagulls, the cliffs are empty.

“You’re pretty far from home,” Joe remarks, and then decides to follow the dog. Down the cliffs, over the dunes, and then along beach, the dog finally comes to rest beside, half sunk into the sand, a wheelchair.

Yuri’s wheelchair.

“Joe!!!” Sachio screams from where he’s been playing in the surf. He tears across the sand and flings himself into Joe’s arms before Joe can fully process the situation.

“Nice to see you, Joe,” Yuri says, when Sachio has calmed down.

“Are... are you ok?” Joe blurts out stupidly, because the sight of Yuri in a wheelchair is distressing on a level so complex that Joe is going to need a fucking minute to process it all.

“I’m fine," Yuri says, looking bemused, of all things. "How are you?”

“Stop being weird,” Sachio admonishes. “Are you here for the party?”

“What party?” It doesn’t take much for Joe to play dumb - Yuri in a wheelchair has already kicked things off for him - but he leans into it because teasing the kid feels normal, and Joe thinks if he can just cling to something normal, he’ll be able to drag himself back from the fucking depths.

So Sachio tells Joe about Gym Nowhere’s party and Joe lies and says he hadn’t heard about it, and this sends Sachio into a fit and Yuri watches it all in total bewilderment, that smile twisting at his lips.

Joe almost sends the kid to get his bike, but he feels like one if not both of them will end up in pieces on the side of the road. So he leaves Sachio with Yuri and heads back the way he came. He doesn’t miss the weird look on Yuri’s face, as if his former rival thinks he’s going to bail on the party and disappear into the dunes, never to be seen again. Even if Joe wasn’t already dead-set on surprising the kids with new gear to train with, he’d have gone to the party if only to give Yuri the shock of his life.

He figured the guy’s life was a lot less interesting now that he couldn’t walk or fight anymore.

The kids are delighted and Yuri hides his surprise well, but Joe still feels pretty pleased with himself.

Much later, when the kids and most of the adults have either gone to bed or just passed out under the tables, Yuri’s cheeks are flushed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he’s smiling more freely than Joe ever thought was possible. Joe isn’t doing much better himself, having matched Yuri drink for drink for the last two hours or so. The dog is like a furnace, flopped across his lap.

“You’re fascinating,” Yuri says decisively, setting his elbow on the arm of his wheelchair so he can prop his head up with his hand. “Where did you even come from?”

“You know. The city. Wherever.”

“No, I mean. Who are you? How are you even alive?”

Joe shrugs. “Fighting.”

“I take it your upbringing wasn’t particularly easy.”

Joe shrugs again, smirking a little. “Is anyones?”

“You’re being dense on purpose.”

“Maybe I’ve just taken one too many hits to the head.” He grins and raps his knuckles against his forehead.

Yuri splutters into the sip he’d been trying to take of his drink, spilling down the front of his shirt and into his lap.

“Maybe you did too,” Joe says, asserting this strange sense of normalcy as if Yuri hadn’t ended up in a wheelchair from the very thing they’re joking about. This earns him a genuine laugh, which seems to surprise Yuri even more than it does Joe.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Yuri says carefully. “I haven’t been able to drink much lately, so my tolerance is... a bit ridiculous.”

Joe hums with amusement, and things fall silent. Yuri seems to have possibly fallen asleep, so Joe buries his hands in the dog’s fur and just goes to town. The animal is soft, docile and incredibly pleased with the attention. It rolls off Joe’s lap and exposes its belly, needy and desperate for pets.

“I should go,” Yuri eventually says, rousing himself.

“Want me to drive you home?”

“Oh. That’s... unnecessary. I can call a car.”

“Pops has a truck. I can drive you. Or,” he adds, spurned on by the look on Yuri’s face, “I can just hook your wheels up to my bike and tow you home.”

Yuri looks away. “It’s late.”

“And it’s my fault for keeping you up,” Joe says, staunchly avoiding apologizing for the joke, or even for putting Yuri in a wheelchair in the first place. “Come on. Let me make it up to you.”

Maybe he picked up on Joe’s guilt, or maybe he was just too tired to make another decision, but Yuri agrees.

Joe stands by awkwardly, unsure if he should even offer to help, let alone if he even could. He ends up breathing out a subtle sigh of relief to find that Yuri is able to stand and maneuver himself into the passenger side of Pops’ truck. The truck is comprised of just one long seating bench, so the dog jumps in and curls up right in the middle. The wheelchair is left on the floor, an unspoken sign of how much things have changed in only a year. Joe wants to just drive off without it, as if that would somehow make Yuri walk again.

After a moment, Joe packs the wheelchair into the bed of the truck, and then they’re off.

The drive is long, and goes by in relative silence. With a hand buried in the dog’s fur and the dog’s face resting on his lap, Yuri gives Joe directions, then dozes with his head against the window until Joe prompts him again. As they pull into the driveway, Yuri rouses himself just in time to see the unguarded look of awe cross Joe’s face.

“So this is how a champion lives...” he mutters to himself, unaware that he’s being watched.

“Maybe,” Yuri says gently, not wanting to scare him. “Looking at you, I’d say a champion lives like a stray dog, hiding from the world and not even fighting anymore.”

“Well we both have that in common.”

Even now, over a year after their big match, they’re still fighting, sending harmless little jabs back and forth. They’ve both taken harder punches, so neither of them are hurt or even particularly bothered.

Yuri is visibly exhausted, and has a much harder time getting out of the car than he did getting in. When he finally manages to sit in his chair, Joe doesn’t hesitate or even ask before taking hold of the back of Yuri’s chair and just pushing him.

Maybe it's because he's tired, but Yuri tilts his head back to look at Joe, a lazy smile on his lips. "I love how you're not careful with me. Everyone else tiptoes around it. I can see it on their faces. The pity. I don't see it with you."

"Do you want me to bite my nails and ask you, I don't know, what your pain level is?"

"No. I like you like this. You don't tell me what you think I want to hear."

"I don't have time to play games like that. Plus, I can probably guess how you're feeling."

"I can assure you that you have no idea what I'm feeling."

It's late. He's tired. He has no idea where Yuri is trying to lead the conversation. So Joe just says: "Okay."

Yuri bursts out laughing. "And that's it? You won't even fight me?"

"I already fought you," Joe says. "Don't need to do it again."

When he's able to stop chuckling, Yuri says, easy as anything: “Stay here. Sleep on the couch.”

Then he wheels himself down the hall and disappears behind a closed door before Joe can say anything else. The dog curls up on a big cushion in the living room. The couch, much like the rest of what Joe can see of Yuri’s house, is white, sleek and clean. Joe kicks off his shoes, lies down, and, with a jaw-cracking yawn, goes to sleep.

-

“You’re not getting better, are you?”

Joe surprises himself by even asking.

Yuri’s situation has been such an unspoken weight on his heart that he finds himself constantly caught off guard by the sheer magnitude of it.

There are days when Yuri can stand and even walk around a little, and then there are days when Yuri can’t even use his hands. The damage done to his nervous system is uncharted territory, and is constantly shifting and changing beyond the bounds of anyone’s understanding.

The sight of Yuri wheeling himself crudely with his palms, his hands rigid and claw-like, is enough to turn Joe’s stomach, and he fluctuates between the desire to try and do something and the urge to make himself scarce.

Still, whether it’s a good day or a bad one, the one constant seems to be pain.

As an athlete and a champion boxer, Yuri is no stranger to pain. He doesn’t yell or cry or even ask for help, and Joe can imagine that nothing he’s feeling can ever come close to the pain of removing his gear in the first place. But every now and then, Yuri will slip. A twist of his lips, or a shudder he doesn’t quite suppress, and Joe can hear him as clearly as if he were writhing on the floor and howling.

But he’s not getting better.

“Well,” Yuri says, “I’m not getting worse.”

It hadn’t been that bad of a day. Joe had managed to cook something to eat without burning anything, and Yuri had managed to stand up and help wash some of the dishes. Joe had moved from the table to the couch, because that’s what people do when they live in a house with more rooms than they know what to do with. Yuri had wheeled his chair over to join him, but instead of moving from chair to couch, had stayed seated where he was.

He had pushed himself too hard that day, and was blatantly tired.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Yuri says mildly.

“When you try to walk? Or...”

“Oh. All the time, really. When I’m sitting, standing... even lying down.”

Joe isn’t sure what pisses him off more: Yuri’s constant pain, or the way that he just dropped that bomb into the conversation as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “You shouldn’t have fought me,” he all but snarls. “You shouldn’t have taken your gear off.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I didn’t...” Back when Joe was just a nameless boxer and Yuri was just the reigning champion, things were different. Joe had seen the scarring, angry red and nightmarish, but he hadn’t even known that the fight, and the removal of his integrated gear, had put Yuri was in a wheelchair until over a year had gone by. “Things change.”

“The mistake was putting the gear on in the first place,” Yuri says, “and that had nothing to do with you.”

Joe doesn’t like problems he can’t solve with his fists, and he knows that putting a fist through the wall or even cracking Yuri’s skull won’t solve anything.

“All this money for a big house and a fancy dog and you can’t even do anything to fix it?”

Between Yuri’s complacent resignation and Joe’s aversion to polite conversation, they’ve never talked about this. Joe is already breathing heavily, but Yuri seems completely unfazed.

“This house is owned by the Shirato Group. Yukiko has generously allowed me to continue living here. She thought it convenient that everything was already on one floor. I have enough money saved that I can live comfortably.”

“I don’t care about houses and money,” Joe growls. “Why won’t Yukiko fix you?”

“She’s not my mother and I’m not her responsibility.”

“Like hell,” Joe snaps. “She put that gear on you in the first place.”

“Yes,” Yuri says, still managing to keep his voice calm and level, “and I consented to it. And since you seem to think I’ve just been sitting here and happily letting my muscles atrophy, I’ll have you know that I’ve been seen by five specialists in the last year. I have undergone eight additional surgeries, after the removal of my gear, which I would have told you about if you had asked. I receive acupuncture treatments twice a week, and am visited by a physical therapist four times a week to help me move. I have sores on my body from sitting and it feels like my blood has been set on fire even on the best of days. I will never fight again.”

“Don’t say that,” Joe hisses.

“I will probably never walk again,” Yuri continues. “And yes, this would all have been avoided if I hadn’t fought you, or if I had kept my gear on, or if I hadn’t let Yukiko put the gear put on me in the first place. But I can’t live my life looking back and wondering how things could have been different, That’s not going to do me any good.”

Joe swears violently. It’s all he can do.

Yuri wheels himself over to where his dog is huddled, set off by the anger in Joe’s tone. One of the wheels of his chair creaks, and Joe makes a mental note to fix that later before he remembers that he and Yuri are in the middle of a fight.

“What do you know about my dog?”

The question comes out of nowhere, and Joe stammers, caught off guard. “I...I don’t know? It’s just a dog.”

“She’s a Siberian Husky,” Yuri says, lovingly scratching behind the dog’s ears. “Her fur is thick enough to keep her warm through harsh Siberian winters, back when we still had snow. Her breed should have evolved in accordance with the warming of the climate, but she is the result of breeding and manipulation, much like myself. I keep my house cooler, so she can be comfortable. But she doesn’t belong here.”

“You see yourself that way too, don’t you?” Joe says, disgusted. “Now that you can’t fight?”

Yuri doesn’t answer, but his mouth twists with something that must be anger.

“So what, then? Where do you belong?”

“Maybe one day I’ll find out.”

“Maybe you belong to yourself.”

Yuri shudders, but fixes his gaze on the dog.

Free from Yuri’s penetrating stare, Joe walks to the windows, looking out at the city beyond. “I have 8 brothers. Or had, maybe. I don’t know if they’re all still alive. But you can imagine what it was like for a stray dog from the wrong side of town. I don’t remember much, but I remember being hungry. Never enough food. I learned to fight early. Wouldn’t have lived much longer if I hadn’t. After fighting to survive, fighting for cash wasn’t much of a jump. Could pay for food, a place to sleep, a bike to get around. I fought, survived, and got strong. Eventually started throwing fights for Pops, and that was it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I had to fight to survive,” Joe says. “Why did you fight?”

“No one’s ever asked me that before.”

“That’s not good enough. Why did you fight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Still not good enough! After I beat you, I stopped fighting because I didn’t need to. I have a life, and I’m still figuring out what I want to do with it, but I don’t have to fight anymore! Tell me! If you're not fighting for your life, why are you fighting at all?”

“Joe. You’re crying.”

Joe had been so focused on being angry that he hadn’t noticed the sound of Yuri wheeling himself closer until Yuri reached out to take his hand.

“Shut up!” Joe slaps Yuri’s hand away and recoils, dancing backwards, his own hands going up like he’s going to throw a punch. Yuri looks up at him, and the fact that Yuri has to look up at Joe now instead of looking down from his full heights sends a wave of disgust rattling through Joe’s body with such ferocity that he has to choke down bile that surges up his throat.

“I can’t do this,” he says, and flees.

Whether Yuri said anything to try and stop him, or just sat there in silence and watched him go, Joe wouldn’t know. The blood rushing in his ears deafens him to everything but the violent thrumming of his own heart. He’s never been this terrified before, even when he first stepped into the ring without gear on. He gets on his bike and tears off into the night, if only so his hold on the bike’s handlebars can help him ground himself.

It doesn’t help.

-

Days pass. Joe struggles to eat, struggles to sleep, struggles to function. He goes to the gym and talks the kids through their drills, narrates for Pops, tries not to think about Yuri. Tries not to see his own reflection gazing back at him when he thinks of the angry scarring that makes up most of Yuri’s arms and torso. Tries not to remember how good it felt to dance with a rival he could finally meet on equal footing.

He only lasts four days.

When he makes it to Yuri’s house, there’s an unfamiliar car in his driveway. Joe waits on the road for what probably ends up being a good hour or two before a woman emerges. She’s dressed in hospital scrubs, and has her hair pulled back into a practical ponytail. Joe figures she’s one of the physical therapists Yuri told him about, and shrinks back from the road as she drives away. Joe figures that Yuri might be tired if he’d just had physical therapy, and is going to need some rest, so he waits on the road another hour or two, leaning on his bike and trying to calm down. The dog barks. The sun goes down. The streetlights turn on.

Eventually, the front door opens again, and Yuri is there. He’s standing. He’s leaning on his wheelchair for support, but he’s standing, and looking straight at Joe. The dog is there too, tail wagging.

Joe looks away, ashamed, but he’s been spotted. Can’t run away now.

He gets back on his bike, drives into Yuri’s driveway, and goes into the house.

The dog nuzzles against Joe’s leg, so Joe pets her. Nobody says anything for a while. Eventually, Yuri sits back down in his chair.

“If you’re tired,” Joe says, “I can go.”

“Stay,” Yuri says.

Joe grunts, looks at the floor. The dog smiles back up at him. Joe looks away.

“I thought about your question,” Yuri says, “and I still don’t have a good answer. I don’t know why I fought. I was good at it, so I kept going. Kept winning. I felt strong, and liked feeling strong.”

“And now you’ll never feel that again, because of me,” Joe mutters, despite himself.

“No. I still feel strong. I feel strong when I can wheel myself up a hill without having to stop and catch my breath. I feel strong when I can stand on my own two feet and take even a few steps. Even if I have to hold onto my bed or the wall, I still feel strong. I destroyed my nervous system and every day I manage to get through without giving in to the pain or giving up entirely is a win. I’m still strong. I’m still winning. I’m still a champion.”

Yuri has managed to keep his voice calm. Joe, alternately, is gasping for breath. He feels ashamed. He feels embarrassed. He’s terrified and wants to run, but he’s already done that and it didn’t fix anything. He wants to fight, but since he is unable to fight the nebulous and metaphysical concept of Yuri’s disability, his hands remain at his sides, clenched into utterly useless fists.

“You didn’t do this to me, Joe,” Yuri continues. “I loved getting to fight you as myself, and I don’t regret anything I’ve done.”

“Y-you’re an idiot,” Joe manages to stammer.

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one who walked into the ring without any gear on first. I was just following your lead.”

Joe falls to the floor as if someone just switched him off. He collapses in a heap and buries his face in his hands. He makes horrible noises, a wounded beast with its leg caught in a trap.

“So fucking stupid...” he says, the words squeezed through his tightening throat.

Yuri grunts, the dog whines and makes worried noises, and then Joe feels himself being... cradled? Yuri has maneuvered himself down to the floor and somehow managed to gather Joe in his arms. He’s stroking Joe like he does with the fucking dog, a gentle hand down his arm, a hand cupped around the back of his head, and Joe loses it. He curls deeper into himself, into Yuri, and wails.

Not once in Joe's entire life had crying ever put food in his belly. Even when he was at his youngest and most vulnerable, crying had never solved anything. If Joe couldn't fix a problem with his fists, he'd run from it. Despite Yuri's insistence that he himself is to blame, Joe was in the ring with him, landing punch after punch when he should have taken one look at the scars up Yuri's arms and chest and called it quits. He saw Yuri struggling to hold his water bottle, saw him standing alone in his corner of the ring, and didn't stop the match. He wouldn't have been able to undo the damage removing his gear had caused, but surely landing fifty less punches on Yuri's already destroyed body might have been better in the long run. Joe can't take any of those punches back, and even worse is that even if he could, he knows Yuri wouldn't want him to.

Yuri who keeps his house cold so his dog can be comfortable. Yuri who destroyed his body and career for the thrill of fighting on his own terms for the first and only time in his entire life.

“We really are lucky,” Yuri says, echoing what he had said to Joe in the ring last year. That in the midst of the most exhilarating fight of either of their lives, they were exactly where they were meant to be

Joe, with tears in his eyes and snot dripping down his face, wondering if Yuri has completely snapped or if he was ever truly sane to begin with, manages to choke out a reply:

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> no beta because i literally just finished watching this show this morning and was just COMPELLED to write this. forgive the typos but these gay boxers in love have truly inspired me.


End file.
